Be Somebody
by Harmonic Friction
Summary: Twenty three year old Buddy Pine is touring LA with his new book and motivational plan. However, his thoughts blur when he meets a pretty Mexican blonde with great thighs and a leather briefcase.
1. Be Somebody

_Be Somebody

* * *

_

Red hair, brilliant shocks of red hair, stood inches and inches above Buddy Pine's head. _"You've got to be somebody, be somebody you wouldn't really like, don't you know that's what we women like?" _crooned the radio, not knowing it was part of something deeper. **I WAS AN HONOR STUDENT AT PARKVIEW HIGH** screamed a red bumper sticker; his license plate holder declared 'I protect the environment with ammo! Wrap your head around that!'

A few schoolgirls crossed the road, and he slowed down staggeringly to check out their backsides. "Twenty points, young and fun," he said aloud, not even knowing what the Hell he was talking about.

Adjusting his rearview mirror, he spotted silvery blond hair in the image, and was instantly drawn to his left. A tall, slight woman in tight black clothing carrying a leather briefcase walked by, slow and sultry, in the California heat. He grinned out of habit—he was no somber fellow. He'd seen her earlier, too, he wouldn't ever forget a figure like _that. _His specially-tailored suit clung under his arms, he had broad shoulders, he was used to Illinois. Everything about this city was too hot, but at the moment, that was not necessarily a bad thing.

He tapped his fingers against the car door and slowed his Benz to a staggering five miles per hour. Blond-bombshell was walking just ahead now, quickening her pace. _'Dang.' _Buddy, who was known to most as just Buddy or Mr. Pine or just "sir", but knew he was someone better than _all _of that, felt his pounding heart give a jumpstart that told him just how much of a _high _this was. _'Do it.' _

He wasn't usually so forward. He didn't single women out, though most looked promising. Blond Bombshell had thin little legs and was basically a hard-on in a miniskirt and that silvery hair was mesmerizing, and—_'do it.'_

"Excuse me," he called out, his voice sounding nearly child-like in the dry air. Not quite _high _but never low, unless he was kidding.

She kept walking and Buddy, ever the go-getter, persevered. Later, he might blame all of this on the weather.

"Miss?"

The lady stopped and slowly turned. She was of a fairly dark complexion, luscious. Her large eyes saw the Benz first. She beamed almost slyly.

Buddy nodded and stalled the beautiful black automobile. "Yeah, I know. Obvious and corny."

"Not really. Not yet," she said in a velvety purr, a hint of a Spanish accent present. He laughed. "I'm waiting," she told him.

"You were at my lecture, right? Occidental?"

"Sure," she replied. "You were great."

"I'd have been better if the air conditioning would have been running, but I liked the campus. Liberal arts, woot." He gave a little fist-pound to the air. "You go there?"

"I _did._ Not for a graduate degree, though._"_

"Oh." He watched her. "That's good."

"I'm waiting for the corny bit," she smiled, but he figured he'd better talk fast.

"Hey, you need a ride?"

She shrugged. "I'm not really going far."

"Then I won't drive far."

She raised an eyebrow. "All right," she said, and waited for him to open the door before she got in.

"Buddy," he said, as soon as she was buckled in, sticking out his hand in a formal nature.

"I remember." She had a very sarcastic way of expressing herself. He was finding her more and more attractive.

"So, do you have a name?"

"I do," she replied. "In English, it's Mirage."

"Because I couldn't possibly know Spanish?"

"I assumed not, but—"

"I got an A plus in eighth grade. There's no companion word to Mirage, but illusion's close, right? That would be _Es-pergismo?"_

She laughed aloud. "Esperjismo, maybe?" She said it fast, authentically. The words rolled off her tongue fabulously.

"Maybe."

They shook hands.

He couldn't help but wonder what kind of panties were hidden under that skirt, which couldn't have possibly measured more than ten inches. _'Black lace, maybe red?' _Her subdued wardrobe palette hardly suggested red panties, and he was more than willing to accept that truth.

She smirked, her dark green eyes following his blue ones down. "I thought you were _driving? _Or would you rather have _me_ walk _you_ where _you_ need to go?"

"Oh man, you called it. Where do you need to go?"

"Off North Glendale."

"Where's that?"

"Keep going straight."

"Will do."

A few minutes of silence passed. The cool air blew Mirage's tresses around like a model. He was sure they were going to get into a car wreck.

He was almost going to tell some stupid "is it hot in here or is it just me?" joke when (thank God) Mirage picked an acrylic nail and asked: "Why are you into speaking? I mean, your expertise is pretty amazing, and what with the government going to pieces, we need people like you. _Real _heroes."

"I don't like the word 'hero'," Buddy replied almost tersely, but he smiled at her quickly to let her know this was nothing personal. _'Just between me and him.' _"And I guess that's why I do my thing. I was fortunate enough to get early recognition for my projects, funding, stuff like that. I didn't care for college—just an extension of high school."

She nodded. "It's lucky you had your resources."

"I made them," he shrugged," and I want to convince other people that if they want something, they shouldn't wait. They shouldn't want approval, you know?" He was starting to raise his voice.

"You're passionate—turn left."

"Yeah, I guess so, thanks. I just get really tired of people waiting and waiting. That's why I'm here. I want to end conflict."

"Cheers to that," she said, with a little smile.

'_Fight conflict with conflict. If only the little punk kids in high school had known I was the most enlightened of all of them.' _

"Some people criticize me. They say I'm being too much of team player, giving countries like Korea supplies and then donating to American charities. I like being hypocritical."

"Honestly, everyone needs help. If the government didn't have such an agenda…" she trailed off and stared out the window, crossing one leg over the other. "Here's the firm. You can stop here."

Buddy pulled over to the side of the road. "You work here?"

"I used to. I'm just bringing over some old case files."

"I'd like to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

Buddy chortled. "My lectures are always filled with geeky little white boys like me, guys who are pathetic, want to be rich. But I looked up today, and there _you _were. So what's the story?"

Mirage lowered her eyebrows. "No story. I heard there would be a liberated weapons designer and peacemaker speaking at O. And the combination of those things? Very intriguing. Plus, we'd _all _like to be rich."

"You don't look like you need much help."

"I'm comfortable, Buddy. But can't a girl want _more _than comfort?"

"Sure. She's got to know where to find _discomfort, _then. New experiences, new humiliations, new hoops."

"Sounds tough."

"Nah," he shrugged, grinning. "I just like hearing the sound of my own voice. My therapist used to call me an 'attention whore'."

Mirage giggled suddenly, covering her hand with her mouth.

"So, you like food?"

"Not especially."

"Well, would you like to join me for _something_? Coffee, drink? I have two hours until the arcade holds an all-night competition."

She cocked her eyebrow.

"Joke. I wouldn't do that. I've got all night."

"All night, hm?"

"Getting corny now?"

"I'd say so. I can't. I've got errands to run."

Buddy inadvertently blushed. "Errands that didn't exist until now?"

"Some of them."

"Heh, well, if you still want some discomfort, I've got a little project going, a little secret, but whatever. You need a job, somewhere far away?"

"Maybe."

Buddy reached into his pocket and grabbed a business card. "Here's my number. But don't call on Saturday mornings. I'll be watching cartoons and I won't answer the phone, it's not even worth it."

"Okay," she said.

"Are you sure you don't want to go get something? We could get creative."

Mirage grabbed her briefcase. "I'm pretty sure. You can enjoy yourself in the hotel, I wouldn't want to spoil your evening in sunny California." She too pulled out a business card. "Call me," she told him with a seductive smile. "If, of course, there's a job opening." With that, she got out of the car and gave a little wave.

"We never met!" he called.

"You got it."

An old man on a park bench looked confused.

Mirage swung the briefcase over her shoulder and walked toward the firm, stick legs flexing impressively.

'_I'd pull a job out of thin air to see **that **every day.'_

He checked his watch and decided he'd better change into some more casual clothes before going to the all-night arcade competition.


	2. And et cetra

**Verse Two- **_And et. Cetra

* * *

_

'_These damn Californians who call themselves gamers!' _Buddy thought angrily, leaving Tim's Arcade with a bang, literally, as he slammed the door and managed to trap some kid's finger in it. "Whatever, look out," was his apology, and he shook his head at kids-today, even though he hated himself for being such a stereotypical grown person. _'Honestly, couldn't DDR themselves out of a gas fire.'_

It was a sucky analogy, but Buddy was too peeved to use perfect language.

Still steaming, he headed toward his Black Beauty and was happy to see she had been untouched. He shook his head again at the world's youth and tried to forget how awful everyone at Tim's had played. He liked to win, sure, but he liked to win with a _fight. 'Is four notes so hard! Four notes!' _

He ripped around the corner with such fury that he told himself he needed to take a chill pill and just enjoy the cooler temperature.

However, once he got back into his hotel room, he realized that the air conditioning was dead there, too. The room was nearly sweltering and smelled like old shampoo and bleach. He flounced onto the bed and lay backward, staring at ceiling and wishing that little blond Mirage would suddenly appear before him and bend to his every will.

Momentarily, he considered calling 1-800-GIRL4U, but it was too warm to be chatting up a mystery lovely without severely overheating, no fun. He often called the number and tried to flummox the poor things be asking such questions as : "Do prime numbers turn you on? Not me, it's Asian history that gets _me _hard."

"Uhm, what sir? I think our connection is bad!" they'd say. Then, he'd hang up. Prank calling sex hotlines was hotter than phone sex itself. (He wouldn't know, but it didn't matter.)

'_Good times.' _He flipped on the news, they were talking about children with some sort of deformation, something or another.

"A shocking syndrome," said the newscaster.

He laughed and laughed hysterically, _loudly_, for almost fifty seconds.

Buddy instantly moved to his suitcase and removed a black notebook, scribbling down his thoughts quickly and then moving his hand to his pants pocket, where he found Mirage's number.

'_Don't call her now, too sudden. Let her simmer.'_

MIRAGE ALTAMON, DEFENSE, 909-5233

'_Do I even need her? She seems smart, seems like she could work undercover, definitely liked my money. But do I need her? Lawyer, heh, bet she'd be a real credibility.'_

He rolled on his side.

'_Yes. It's a need. It's not a want. I need a woman on my team. I totally need a pretty Mexican secretary.'_

"I fucking _want _her, hell-o!" he said aloud, and chuckled momentarily at the thought of other hotel guests seeing him check out, alone.

He decided he'd go crazy if he didn't call, so he picked up the phone.

Beep-beep-beep-dee-dee-doo-beep

The phone rang. And rang.

"Damn it! Answer! It's only three am!"

Click. "Hello, you've reached Mirage Altamon, at Hiles-Burke-and Altamon Law. Please leave a brief message, your name, and a way to reach you. I will be resigning next month, so any new clients, please contact Richard Hiles at extension 003 or Harold Burke at 002. Thank you."

"Mirage. This is Buddy Pine, the speaker. I gave you a ride today. Yeah, so it dawned on me that I'm leaving California in forty-eight hours and I'd like to interview you. Let's meet. My cell phone number is 287-405-6578. I'd like to give you another ride. Later."


End file.
